


The Thickening of Your Scent

by LadyLade



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Scenting, Scents & Smells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 15:03:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4710284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLade/pseuds/LadyLade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first, Derek only gets traces of him, a hint of cayenne in the halls. Then one day the freshman passes by him when Derek’s at his locker, and the burst of cayenne becomes gumbo, so potent that Derek nearly crumples his locker door. By the time Derek recovers, the freshman is already gone.</p><p><i>Jesus</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thickening of Your Scent

**Author's Note:**

> Teen Wolf Kink meme prompt: And everywhere he goes, he can feel the kid's eyes on him, the smell of his arousal fogging up his brain. It makes him pant.
> 
> ...the one where Derek is a teenage werewolf who wants to bang the freshman with a crush on him. (Original prompt is [here](http://teenwolfkink.livejournal.com/2069.html?thread=1152021#t1152021). Livejournal post is [here](http://ladylade.livejournal.com/17566.html).)

High school sucks, even for Derek. Sure, he’s tall, dark, and handsome, he makes good grades, and he’s good at sports. (Well, he would be good at sports if he actually _played sports_. Despite his appearance, Derek isn’t really interested in chasing balls around, much less that team-spirit shit.) But Derek is also a pretty solitary guy (the only thing worse than Laura calling him a lone wolf is his mother calling him shy). Plus, teenagers stink. Literally.

Teenagers are _full_ of pheromones, and when you pack them together in one place, they don’t exactly blend well. It’s like opening up a bunch of different types of spices, regardless of what they’re actually used for. But Derek is in his junior year, so he’s gotten used to it.

At least, he’s gotten used to it until _now_.

There’s a freshman (it must be, Derek’s never smelt this before) who…distracts Derek. At first, Derek only gets traces of him, a hint of cayenne in the halls. Then one day the freshman passes by him when Derek’s at his locker, and the burst of cayenne becomes gumbo, so potent that Derek nearly crumples his locker door. By the time Derek recovers, the freshman is already gone.

 _Jesus_.

>>> 

(When Laura finds out, she laughs really hard. Really, _really_ hard. Derek is not amused.)

>>> 

After that, the freshman is _everywhere_. He’s in the halls, in the cafeteria, in the _bathrooms_. He’s driving Derek crazy, and Derek hasn’t even _seen_ him yet. It’s fucking ridiculous.

And each time Derek smells him, each time he gets a whiff of that fading scent, Derek can barely control the wolf’s urge to track the boy down and grip his nape in Derek’s teeth until the boy settles, accepts Derek. Derek’s control is tedious at best, especially when Derek can feel the boy’s eyes on, the boy’s scent thickening—and yet, whenever Derek turns around the boy is gone. It’s frustrating, incredibly frustrating, for both Derek and the wolf.

Derek’s been running in the woods lately. And taking cold showers. _Lots_ of cold showers.

>>> 

(“Aw, Derek, are you feeling frustrated?” Laura says. “You smell like you’re in a rut.”

“I will punch you so hard,” Derek says, “that your face will feel like it’s having an earthquake.”

“Derek, sweetie, be nice to your sister,” his mom says.

Fuck his life.

Derek sulks in the woods for the rest of the day.)

>>> 

Derek finally gets a break when he corners a freshman—not _his_ freshman, but one close to him.

“Whose bag is that?” Derek asks, looming over the freshman.

“M-my friend’s,” the boy says, brown eyes stupidly wide.

“ _Who?_ ” Derek asks, and okay, maybe he’s being a dick, but he’s _so close_.

“S-stiles,” the boy says. “Stiles Stilinski.”

…Wait.

“The Sheriff’s kid?”

“Yeah,” the boy says.

Well, shit.

>>> 

(“Your life is turning into a Spanish soap opera,” Laura says, cracking up, when Derek walks into the house.

“How the hell do you find these things out?” Derek demands, because really, Laura is _omniscient_ or something.

“It’s because I have a vagina,” Laura says.

Oh. That makes sense.)

>>> 

 _Stiles_ , Derek thinks now when he catches the boy’s scent. _Stiles_.

>>> 

After three months, Derek _still_ hasn’t actually seen Stiles, and Derek’s little victory doesn’t feel so great anymore. He bullies Stiles’ friend, Scott, for information but stops after he gives Scott an asthma attack.

(Okay, so maybe Derek feels guilty about that.)

Really, Beacon Hills High is not big enough for Derek to keep missing Stiles. So that means: a) the universe hates Derek and is conspiring against him, or b) Stiles is purposefully avoiding Derek.

…Come to think of it, maybe hounding Scott _wasn’t_ Derek’s best idea.

>>> 

Derek’s wolf has been chafing at Derek’s control, wanting to hunt Stiles down and finally _get the boy under him_.

But it’s not like Derek can track him down in the middle of _school_ , and Stiles has been _exceedingly_ elusive.

(“Are you helping Stiles avoid me?” Derek accuses Laura.

“No,” Laura rolls her eyes, “you’re failing this epically all on your own.”)

Then Derek stays after to tutor another student (Harris is a servant of evil, he really is) and, in the empty hall of the school, Derek catches Stiles’ scent.

It’s been so long that Derek doesn’t even _try_ to hold back his wolf. This has been like the most drawn-out courtship _ever_ , and Derek’s wolf is literally _whining_ ; at this point, Derek would be elated even with a glimpse of Stiles.

He scents Stiles down to the end of the school, near the locker rooms. Derek sees a flash of a pale neck, and he snaps. He’s on Stiles— _Stiles_ , he’s finally found _Stiles_ —before he even registers that he’s moved, pressing Stiles against the wall.

“Oh my god, dude, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—I’m going to _kill_ Scott for ratting me out—I’ve been staying away from you, I don’t know what else you want me to do—”

And that’s Stiles’ _voice_ , babbling and cracking, and Derek shoves his face into the crook of Stiles’ neck, wanting to feel that voice vibrate against his lips, wanting to bury his nose in that scent.

“You—oh,” Stiles says, as Derek is trailing his nose up and down Stiles’ neck. “Wow, Scott is a moron.”

And then Stiles’ hand comes up to thread into Derek’s hair, and god, that’s _so much better_. The wolf is going _crazy_ now that Stiles is accepting Derek; and Derek mouths up to Stiles’ jaw, wet and sloppy, and Derek delights in the little hitches in Stiles’ breath.

Finally, _finally_ , he seals his mouth over Stiles’, and then groans helplessly when Stiles opens up to lave his tongue against Derek’s bottom lip, begging like a pup. Derek can’t muster up finesse, just delves into Stiles with broad strokes, desperate to memorize Stiles’ taste.

It’s glorious, this frantic kissing, and Stiles’ gumbo scent thickens until he tastes of it, tastes of peppers and okra. It overwhelms Derek; he has to pull back, rub his cheek against Stiles’, catch his breath. Stiles’ heart is beating like a techno bass, and his skin is flushed, hot to the touch. Derek is finally able to see Stiles: his brown eyes and thick lashes; the traces of lingering baby-fat in his cheeks; his strong jaw line; his slack, tempting mouth.

Christ, Derek needs to stop before this gets out of hand.

“Uh,” Stiles says.

“You shouldn’t avoid me,” Derek says.

“I, uh, I’m beginning to see that,” Stiles says. “But, me? Really?”

“Yes, you,” Derek says.

“I mean, it’s just that I talk a lot and my ADD is _crazy_ out of control and I don’t really have a filter,” Stiles says.

“Yeah, I’m finding that out,” Derek says, and then watches hungrily as a blush spreads across Stiles’ cheeks and down his throat.

“You do know that my dad’s the Sheriff, right?” Stiles says. “I feel like I should put out there.”

“I’m good with parents,” Derek says. “Also, that won’t happen for a while. You’re underage.”

“You just, we’re— _sex_.” Stiles gapes at him, bottom lip shiny with spit, with _Derek’s_ spit.

Derek groans, then leans in to bite at Stiles’ flushed mouth, frenzied on by Stiles’ moan. Christ, it’s going to be a long, _tempting_ four years.


End file.
